In the Beginning
by Myshipshipsitself
Summary: Ever wonder what happened outside of those flashbacks? What was the messed up childhood that Sam always hated?Well, it all started with a fire...
1. The Fire

A/N: So, after watching the Supernatural episode, "Something Wicked," which has flashbacks to when Sam and Dean were kids. Dean didn't follow dad's orders, Sam almost got killed, and Dean turned into a good little soldier. So after watching that episode, I kinda started to wonder what their childhood was really like. I mean, we see flashbacks, but I just started wondering about the pieces they don't show us. So here I am, writing my version of it. It will probably never be completed, so I'm sorry in advance for abandoning it at some random point. I don't think I'll be able to stick with it through 20-some-odd years of their life to tell the story. But if you can bear with me long enough on this journey, I guess I'll begin.

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Dean pulled the blanket tighter around his body, over his head, trying to drown out the nightmare. Go away, go away. He could still hear screaming. He heard his dad yelling his mother's name. Then it stopped. Dean breathed out a bit and opened his eyes. He hated nightmares.

His dad's voice was coming from the next room. He was saying something to Sammy. Dean smiled. His little brother would be big enough to play catch with him soon. That way he wouldn't have to wait 'til his dad got home.

"Mary!" Dean heard his dad yell her name again and sat up. That wasn't right. The nightmare was over. He already woke up. He crept to the door and pulled it open. An orange light danced on the wall, and his eyes widened when he heard his dad yell again. He ran into the hallway, stopping when he saw his dad coming out of Sammy's nursery. His eyes were wide and panicked, and Dean could see flames in the room.

"Take your brother and go outside as fast as you can! Go Dean, now!" The next second, Dean had his baby brother in his arms and was running. He didn't turn back. Just ran.

He stopped on the lawn outside, and turned back to look at the house. Sammy was crying, and Dean shifted his brother in his arms. "Shh, Sammy. I got you. Shh." He knew he was supposed to tell his brother that everything was okay, but he couldn't do that. He was a big brother. He wasn't supposed to lie to Sammy. And all he knew right now was that their mom and dad were inside of a burning house. Oh rather, their mom was.

Dean didn't have time to move as their dad ran out of the house. It was all he could do to hold onto his little brother when their dad scooped him into his arms and kept running out into the street. Far enough away that Dean could barely feel the heat anymore.

Everything happened fast after that. There was Pastor Jim, and Bobby, and people that Dad worked with. Dean held Sam tight, whether protecting Sammy or himself, he wasn't sure. Dad didn't try to take Sam form his arms, and Dean wouldn't let anyone else touch his baby brother.

They were at Pastor Jim's house, in the guestroom. Dean was sitting in a chair by the window. Dad was lying on the bed, glaring at the ceiling as though it were the most horrible thing he'd ever seen. Dean tore his eyes away from the glare to look down at Sammy. His brother was asleep in his arms.

"Dean, you should sleep," Dad said. Dean just shook his head, and Dad didn't press the subject.

Dean wasn't sure what happened that night. Not really. He knew his mom died in the fire, cause that's what everyone was saying. Dad didn't say that. He didn't say anything about it.

The only other thing he knew for sure was that everything changed after that.

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A/N: So, opinions? I wrote this pretty quickly, so I apologize for any mistakes. I know it's short. The next chapters will hopefully be longer. PLEASE leave reviews and let me know what you think, if I should continue or just give up cause I already know it's no where near as good as the actual show. Let me know! :)


	2. Road Trip

A month after the fire, things weren't making any more sense. Dad was still working, and when he wasn't he was making a lot of calls. He always went outside, sitting in the car or walking around so Dean never heard the talks.

Dean always just stayed in the little two-bedroom apartment they were living in. He wasn't allowed to leave much, unless Pastor Jim took him and Sammy somewhere whenever Dad was gone. He was gone a lot. More than he had been before, and he was gone a lot back then. And Pastor Jim had practically moved in. The only time he wasn't there was on Sundays, and sometimes Saturday if he was busy writing notes and stuff. He sometimes did that while he was watching Dean and Sammy.

Someone was always there, though. It usually wasn't Dad, but sometimes Bobby would come over. Bobby was more fun than Pastor Jim. He'd always tell Dean scary stories. Bobby was around a lot when Dad was home, too. They always went outside to talk, though.

"Is Dad gonna be okay?" Dean asked Pastor Jim one day. Pastor Jim had taken him and Sammy out for a day, after Dean complained that they hadn't left the apartment in two weeks. Now they were sitting in a park. Dean had an ice cream cone from the truck that had just passed by, and Sammy, sitting in his stroller, kept reaching for it. Dean didn't give him any. Mom always told him that Sammy couldn't have the same food Dean could 'til he was older.

"Of course he is," Pastor Jim said. "Why'd you ask something like that?"

"He's gone a lot. And I asked him if Mommy was coming home, and he wouldn't tell me." Dean said. He looked up at Pastor Jim with hopeful eyes. "Is she?"

Pastor Jim's lips made a thin line, and he looked down at Sammy when he answered. "No, Dean," he said. "She's not. But she's in a better place."

"Where?" Dean asked. "She wanted to be here, didn't she? She loves Dad and me and Sammy. So what place is better if we're not there?"

Pastor Jim closed his eyes really tight, and didn't say anything. When he opened his eyes, they were shiny like Dad's were right after the fire. Dean thought he was gonna cry, but he didn't. "Some things, we just aren't meant to understand, Dean," he said. Dean didn't really know what that meant, but he didn't ask. He just finished his ice cream in silence.

He glared at the little boy on the other side of the sidewalk, catching a football his dad threw to him. Dad used to play catch with him like that. Not anymore. His eyes were starting to get blurry, and Dean wiped the back of his hand over his face. It came away wet, and he wiped it on his jeans. Tears weren't as pretty from the other side. Sammy made a gurgling sound, and Dean looked down at him. Sammy was reaching a hand towards him. Not towards the ice cream. Towards him.

Dean reached towards him, letting his little brother wrap his tiny fingers around Dean's finger.

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That night, Dean was lying awake in his bed. Sammy was sleeping in the crib on the other side of the room, and the light from the living room was bleeding through the crack in the door. He could hear hushed voices, and knew he shouldn't get up. But he just wanted a cup of water.

Careful not to wake Sammy, Dean crept out of bed and towards the door. He prepared to loudly make his presence known to the grown-ups, knowing Dad wouldn't want him hearing whatever they were talking about. He stopped halfway through opening the door, though, when he heard his mom's name.

"Mary wasn't killed by no regular house fire, John, and you know it," Bobby said. "I been telling you this for years. You gotta listen to me."

"She wasn't possessed or something, Bobby," Dad said. "I don't know what happened to your wife, but it's not the same thing."

"No, it's not," Bobby said. "My wife was possessed by one of those monsters. But I think Mary was killed by one. How else do you explain it? You said you saw her on the ceiling, right?"

"I was freaked out," Dad said. "I was seeing things."

"No you wasn't. Look here," Bobby said. Dean pushed the door open a little bit more so he could see. The back of the couch was facing him, and Dad and Bobby were both leaning forward looking at something. "These are all the things I've found since she was possessed. And there's more out there. I know a lot of hunters that hav—"

"Hunters?" Dad asked, looking up at Bobby. "If so many people know about these demons and whatever else you got records on here, how come it's not in the news? These are all fairytales, Bobby."

"People just don't want to face the truth, John. You're a good example of that," Bobby said. "There ain't any other explanation than this."

"This isn't an explanation, Bobby," Dad said. "This is a bunch of folklore and myths and legends, and whatever else you've dug up to try and explain what happened to your wife."

Dean carefully shut the door back and crawled back into his bed. He didn't need the water that bad. Mom was killed by a monster? That didn't make any sense. Monsters weren't real.

Monsters weren't real.

That's what Dad believed, so that's what Dean believed too. Except, about a month later, Dad was talking the same as Bobby. Not to Dean and Sammy, of course, but he kept talking about things in the dark. He was going to the shooting range a lot to practice, and Dean wasn't allowed in the garage anymore. Whenever he could peek around Dad when he went in, he saw guns on the wall, and books and bottles and bullets on the workbench.

When Dean turned six, Dad started teaching him stuff. How to load a gun, and pack salt rounds. He taught him what different symbols meant, and by night Dean was studying folklore and legends as much as homework. Near his seventh birthday, Dean learned how to shoot. As soon as Sammy turned three, they were on the road. Dad packed everything they had into the trunk of the Impala, strapped Dean and Sammy into the backseat, and took off.

Dean asked why Dad waited so long to take them on the road, cause it was obvious Dad had wanted to get out and try to find this demon long before then. Dad just said that he wanted to make sure Dean could take care of himself and Sammy, cause Pastor Jim and Bobby wouldn't be there to take care of them. Dean wasn't sure how Dad planned to find this demon, or how long it would take, so he just settled into the backseat next to Sammy, thinking this was just another family road trip that would last a week, maybe a bit longer. It didn't take him too long to realize that he was wrong.


	3. Family Secret

Dean hated it when people said things like, "I'm going through hell," or "Man, that's gotta be hell." He hated it, mostly because they were always talking about stupid stuff. On tv they said it a lot, saying it about things like losing their job, or breaking up with somebody. They didn't know what hell was. Dean figured he didn't really either, but he was probably a lot closer to it that those people were. He was seven years old, and practically raising his three year old brother by himself. He knew how to use a gun, and had used it once. Turned out he was a pretty good shot, but it was just a squirrel that had popped his head up at the wrong moment when Dean was coming back to the hotel from the gas station across the street with dinner for him and Sammy. Dean also never saw his dad. or well, he did, but it wasn't really his dad, so it didn't count. Dad wasn't usually in the room except to sleep anyway, even when he was in the hotel with his sons. He was always sitting in the car, and Dean knew he was reading over news and research about the latest case he'd picked up. Dean still didn't know why they kept stopping in these little towns, or why Dad killed any of these demons. They didn't kill Mom.

"I'll be gone probably about a week," Dad said. Dean didn't look up from the book he was staring at. He wasn't happy with the man right now. He'd thought this whole on-the-road thing would be fun. That was a couple months ago, back in May. They stayed in each town a week or two, but Dad swore they'd stay in this town, (Dean had stopped learning the names of new towns about five towns ago,) because he wanted Dean to be in school. He'd even booked them in a room at one of those pay-by-the-week hotels.

He said they'd stay until at least Thanksgiving break, and didn't say anything more when Dean said they didn't need to. Dean really didn't want to go back to school, and he didn't bother trying to make friends. No matter what Dad said, Dean knew they'd be leaving again as soon as he got back from whatever hunt he was leaving for.

"Dean, you hear me?" Dad asked.

"Yeah," Dean said.

"And you know what to do," Dad said, not even phrasing it as a question. "Don't answer the door for anyone. The only time you are to leave is-"

"Is for school," Dean cut him off, finally looking up at him. "Take Sammy with me to the bus stop on the corner, and drop him off at the nursery next door to the school. After school, pick him up, get on the bus and come straight back. I know."

"And don't answer the phone," Dad added. "If it's me, I'll ring once, hang up and call back. And if anything tries to break in, shoot first, ask questions later. And where are the guns supposed to be?"

"Shotgun's in your suitcase," Dean said. "And the handgun's under my pillow." The gun being there had made him uncomfortable at first, but when he'd heard too many noises in the middle of the night, (no longer able to tell himself not to be afraid of the dark as he would have a year ago,) it made him feel better to be able to wrap his fingers around the metal until the bad feeling passed.

"Good boy," Dad said, giving him one more smile as he grabbed his bag from the floor.

"Dad," Dean said, closing the history book and standing up. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder towards the bed nearest the bathroom, making sure Sammy was still asleep, then looked back at Dad. "Why can't I tell Sammy?"

"Tell him what, Dean?" Dad asked him, narrowing his eyes at his son. "You want to tell your little brother that every nightmare he's had is real at that the mother he barely remembers burned on the ceiling in his nursery?"

Dean stumbled a step backwards. "No—I didn't mean—"

But Dad's expression softened, and he set a hand on Dean's shoulder. "Let him keep his innocence a bit longer, Dean," he said, pressing a scratchy kiss against Dean's forehead. "We'll tell him. But let him believe that ghosts and demons are all make-believe for a while."

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A/N: It's short, I know. I'll try and get out longer chapters. Just having trouble getting this story up and started. I've got plans for later, but it's hard when Dean's still oblivious to most of this, and Sam doesn't have a clue what's going on. Also, I know Dean sounds like he's whining a lot in this chapter, but he'll get to be more of the good-son-trying-to-be-like-his-dad type soon. I just figured so early on he wouldn't really get any of it, and hate it on principle. Anyway, please leave a review. I love them so much, and they make me attempt to overcome my writer's block to give you lovelies more fanfic!


	4. Superhero

21:08

"Hey Dean!" Dean turned around when Jake called his name at recess. Jake's was the only kid whose name he'd bothered learning. (Well, he knew Timothy's name, but that was only cause the teacher yelled at him a lot.) Dean just raised a hand and offered a smile, stopping in the sand to wait for Jake to catch up. "Aren't you excited for tomorrow?" Jake asked.

"What's tomorrow?" Dean asked, though he already knew the answer. He'd just been avoiding it for the last two weeks, hoping they would be gone by then. Unfortunately, Dad was good to his word and they had stayed in whatever town this was for a few months, and tomorrow was the last day before Thanksgiving break.

"Career Day!" Jake yelled excitedly, waving the frisbee in his hand around dangerously. "My mom's coming. She's a nurse. Is your dad coming?"

Dean already regretted the little he'd told Jake about hi family. The boy only knew that Dean had a brother named Sam, and a dad that wasn't around much. As far as Jake knew, though, his dad was still a mechanic. Dad didn't want Dean telling anyone about what he really did, and Dean wasn't sure he'd want to tell people even if he could. His dad hunted monsters; who did that? People would think his whole family was weird.

"Nah, he's outta town," Dean said, which wasn't a complete lie. Dad [i]was[/i] out of town. If Dean forgot to mention that his dad was supposed to be back in town by tonight, who would know?

"That sucks," Jake said. "Everyone's parents are coming."

"Everyone minus one," Dean corrected.

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Dean checked the clock on the wall again. Eight o'clock. The hands on the lock seemed to mock him the longer he stared. When Dad said he was coming back, he was usually back before five.

"Sammy, time to go to bed," Dean said, tearing his eyes away from the clock.

Sammy looked up from where he was making his toy dinosaurs attack each other. "But Daddy's not home," he whined.

"He'll be here when you wake up," Dean agreed. "But you were supposed to be in bed an hour ago. He's gonna be late, and he'll be mad if you're still awake."

Sam grumbled, but stood up, leaving his toys on the floor. Dean picked the up and moved them to the table between their beds. He made sure Sammy brushed his teeth and changed into his pajamas, then turned the light on that side of the room off and walked back to the chair closer to the front door.

He sat down and returned to practicing his spelling words for the test the next day. Sometime near midnight he heard someone at the door. He was sure it was dad, but he jumped on his bed out of habit, reaching under the pillow and touching the metal handle.

"Dean, you still awake, boy?" The rough voice made Dean smile.

"Yeah, Bobby," Dean whispered just loud enough that the man could hear him.

"Bring me the first aid kit under the sink," Bobby said, sticking his head through the door, eyes darting to Sam's sleeping form, then back to Dean.

Dean nodded, and ran to grab the first aid kit. When he walked out of the room, he dropped it on the concrete. "Dad," Dean hated how his voice broke on the word. Dad was laying across a bench against the side of the hotel, head propped up on what Dean recognized as his weapons bag. Bobby was kneeling beside him, pressing a cloth against dad's stomach, but the blue cloth had started dying purple the longer he held it there.

"Dean," Bobby said, getting his attention. Dean jumped, scooping up the first aid it and bringing it over to Bobby.

"Dad," Dean said again, standing by his dad's head.

"Hey Dean," he said, forcing a small smile. He coughed, and Dean tried not to notice the blood that spewed out of his lips. "You alright? How's Sammy?"

"We're fine," Dean said. "What happened?"

"You're dad's an idjit is what happened," Bobby said gruffly. He had a gauze pressed against a long cut on the side of his dad's body, just below his ribs. Dean leaned over to hold the gauze so Bobby could get something to wrap it up in. "You shoulda waited fer me, John," he said, digging through the first aid kit again.

"The woman," Dean heard his dad groan out. "Stupid woman. Woulda killed her before you got there."

"What would've killed her?" Dean asked.

His dad cracked an eye open at him. "It's called a wendigo," he said. Dean just nodded, not wanting to ask anything else about it. It was strong enough to hurt his dad. He didn't need to know anything else about it.

"She alright?" Bobby asked. He'd finished bandaging the wound and held outa hand to help him sit up.

His dad groaned in pain as he sat up, but nodded. "A little shaken up, but she'll be back working at the hospital in no time."

"Nothin' like savin' someone who'll save someone else," Bobby said.

"You saved her?" Dean asked, looking at his dad.

He nodded, then winced when Bobby clapped a hand to his shoulder. "It's what he does," he said matter-of-factly.

"You should get to bed, Dean," his dad said.

Dean nodded, going back into the hotel room. The few times all three of them were in the room, Dean would share a bed with Sammy, but his brother was spread out across the entire expanse of the small mattress. He knew dad wouldn't complain if he had to sleep on the couch, but he was hurt. SO Dean grabbed the handgun he kept under the pillow and tucked it under the couch cushions, just to make sure Sammy didn't happen across it. He grabbed the top blanket that Sammy had kicked off and curled up on the couch, a smile on his face for the first time in a long time.

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Dean tapped his foot impatiently through the first half of the parents standing up to talk. Business men, relators, editors, store clerks. None of them had a very interesting story. A woman got up, a sling on her arm and several shallowscratches across her face and neck, and Jake tapped him on the shoulder. Dean turned around to his friend.

"That's my mom," he hissed. Why, Dean wasn't sure, since the woman told the class as a whole that she was Jake's mother. She talked about her job at the hospital. She worked around the new mothers and newborn babies.

"What happened to your arm?" a girl (Dean thought her name was Kendal, but he wasn't sure,) asked when the woman asked for questions.

The woman hesitated, looking at the arm, and then back at Kendal with a forced smile. "Last night," she said. "I got attacked when I was walking home."

"A monster attacked you?" Timothy yelled.

The woman laughed, but it sounded a bit uneasy to Dean. "No, no," she said. "It was a couple wild dogs. I was lucky though. A nice man helped me. Now, are there any other questions?"

Dean smiled, not even paying attention the other questions kids asked, or remembering any of the other parents that stood up to talk. He couldn't tell them what his dad did, but that was okay. He knew he had the coolest parent of all.

His dad was a superhero.

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A/N: I'm pretty happy with how this chapter turned out. It's not beta'd, so I apologize for any mistakes. Please review! I love them so much and they give me inspiration to write more!


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